


Sherlock: DIY Greg

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: DIY!Greg, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mild D/s, Roleplay, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:37:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg feels like a rotten boyfriend so decides to make it up to Mycroft by renovating the politician's house. Sexy times ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: DIY Greg

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** I wrote this a while ago for a prompt from **mystradedoodles** on Tumblr. It's been posted on FF.Net for a while and I'm finally getting around to posting it here.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steve Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

Greg was getting a bit tired of it really. Whenever he wanted coffee, or food, it magically popped up on his desk at Scotland Yard. Whenever he was tired and feeling the strain, a call from the higher ups had him at home in bed. Whenever he needed a cigarette, like _really_ needed one, as in, “I'm going to kill everyone within a two-block radius if I don't get a cancer stick” type of need, an officer would appear with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter just for him.

It wasn't that the DI didn't appreciate or love the small things. No one could possibly say that they had a better boyfriend then Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft Holmes was gorgeous, generous, with a mind the size of China and a heart just as big. He seemed to know everything, and not just who was at war with who and where Sherlock had left his riding crop.

If Greg wanted chicken, they had chicken for dinner (when they _could_ have dinner together, what with work and all). If Greg needed to relax, Mycroft was there to run a bath, or a shower, or offer a massage or some very nice, and very rigorous, sex. But it wasn't just those things that Greg loved. He loved Mycroft's eyes, his skin, the way he read a book at three in the morning or the way he put his hands on his hips when he got annoyed. He loved the way Mycroft giggled over his coffee, the way he held a cigarette, and the way he could have a very annoying Sherlock Holmes running for the hills with just at an eyebrow raise.

Greg loved these things, _adored_ these things, but what did he do? He let Mycroft do all this and the man never wanted anything, not even a thank you. He just wanted Greg to be happy and healthy.

Well, it was going to stop now. Greg couldn't continue letting Mycroft shower him in gifts when all he gave in return was sex (though Mycroft seemed to _really_ enjoy the sex, if his moans and shouts were anything to go by). No, straying off topic. The point is, Gregory Lestrade was going to do something for Mycroft Holmes, something that only required his body, his brain, and his heart. He was going to do something nice and not get anything in return... okay, maybe he was hoping to get some rather lovely sex in return.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Greg leaned against Mycroft's kitchen counter, musing about what exactly it was that he was going to do. The man in question was still in the shower and Greg lost a good few minutes imagining the water running down his pale and supple body, his freckled shoulders dotted with more then just brown spots, his hair plastered to his forehead, water running down his shaft-

Greg cleared his throat and sipped his coffee, trying to keep his mind out of the gutter. It was harder then it seemed; Mycroft was the most amazingly gorgeous person Greg had ever been with, men and women both included. He knew exactly what to do to have Greg screaming, aching, _begging_ for more.

'Stop it,' he berated himself. 'The man's fuckable, I get it.' He sighed. 'Great, arguing with myself. Going insane, Greg.' With another sigh, Greg turned to look out the kitchen window, enjoying the amazing view Mycroft's Kensington home offered. The man owned the entire house and it still amazed Greg every time he came over.

_Maybe I can suggest we move in together_ , Greg mused. _No, that benefits me too... need something that's_ just for _Mycroft._ He tilted his head, coffee warming his hands, as he continued to think. _Marriage? No, too early, only been dating nine months... soon, though, I'll get a ring on that gorgeous hand of his_.

Straying off topic once again, Greg leaned back against the counter-

-and nearly broke his neck falling. Coffee went everywhere as Greg slid to the floor, dazed and with an aching skull, having cracked it against the bench. Groaning, Greg crawled onto all fours and looked up.

'Greg?' Mycroft shouted, coming into the kitchen wearing only a towel. Greg looked up at his long, wet, and very muscled legs, feeling his mouth go dry and his trousers get tighter.

'Um...'

'What happened?' Mycroft asked, hauling his boyfriend up.

_God, he even_ smells _gorgeous_ , Greg thought before shaking his head. He then found out that that was a rather bad idea and winced.

'Gregory? Are you in there?' Mycroft asked, bright blue eyes wide with worry.

'Yeah... I'm... right, um...' Greg blinked and turned to look at the counter. The corner had snapped in half, leaving a large chunk of wood on the floor and splinters on the counter. Greg groaned and rubbed the back of his head. 'That... hurt.'

'I'm sorry, this house is old,' Mycroft said, scowling at the counter. 'I should have everything fixed.'

'Doesn't matter,' Greg said before wincing again. His hand came away covered in blood and Mycroft gaped. 'Um...'

'Hospital!' Mycroft shouted and started ushering Greg towards the front door.

'Hey, hey, _easy_ ,' Greg said, planting his feet on the floorboards and making Mycroft stop. 'First, you're only wearing a towel,' Greg said, 'and as much as I love your body, I don't need all of London seeing it, thank you very much.'

Mycroft blushed and grabbed the towel, making sure it was secure around his hips.

'Second,' Greg continued, 'you can look me over, okay? I know you can, don't act all innocent. So just... grab a torch or something and check my pupils.'

'I'd rather you go to the hospital,' Mycroft said, biting his lip. 'Let me see if you need stitches.'

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


A hospital visit and four stitches later, Greg was sitting in Mycroft's lounge room with a bowl of soup, some soft biscuits, a bottle of soft drink, and strict instructions from the home owner not to go anywhere.

'It's just a concussion,' Greg had grumbled. He'd then learned why most politicians feared Mycroft Holmes; the man could look murderous when he wanted.

So Greg was stuck in Mycroft's home without Mycroft himself, sipping soup and watching a DVD. It took Greg a few minutes to realise Mycroft's TV was sitting crookedly. When he looked closer, he saw that the TV cabinet was old and falling apart; the screws had come loose and the shelf was tilting. Frowning, Greg put his soup down and spent a good two hours walking around Mycroft's rather lovely home, only to find that it was a death trap.

The tiles in all four bathrooms were cracked and coming apart. The bathtub in Mycroft's en-suite bathroom needed replacing and the mirror was tilting like the TV cabinet. The mirror needed a polish, the tiles around the kitchen counter needed to be re-glued, and the floorboards in a few places were cracked. Then there was all the furniture; old, crumbling, falling apart.

'Fucking hell, how hasn't he broken his neck?' Greg wondered as he walked around the place, finally coming to a halt in the kitchen. He stared at the counter that had almost cracked his skull open and paused.

'Oh,' Greg mumbled, a thought suddenly lighting up his mind. 'Oh... oh... _oh_...' Greg clapped his hands together and grinned. 'Right, well... I'll need Sherlock for this.'

With a grin on his face, Greg went to grab his phone.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It only took forty texts, a begging from a DI, a smack from a doctor, a sulk from a consulting detective, and a promise of free reign over two murder cases for Sherlock to trick his brother into thinking his house was being checked for toxic mould. With a stern shouting from Mrs Hudson, Mycroft agreed to stay at Greg's rather small flat over a three week period while his house was ransacked by people.

What Mycroft didn't know was that only Greg, and the people he'd hired to bring in a new bathtub, were going to be ransacking his house. Greg had put in for holiday time at Scotland Yard, knowing the time off work would be worth it. He _had_ to do something nice for Mycroft or he'd combust. And this was the nicest thing he could think of.

So, Monday morning Mycroft dropped Greg off at Scotland Yard and as soon as the car was out of sight, Greg's mobile buzzed.

  
  


_Proceed._

_A_

  
  


Thinking Mycroft's assistant was a godsend, Greg hurried away from the Yard before any of his colleagues could see him and jumped in a taxi, heading for Mycroft's home.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


'Son of a fucking whore!' Greg shouted, sucking on his thumb. The screwdriver had come loose again and he'd swiped his hand against the cabinet, receiving a new cut and a new bruise. 'Fuck it, I'm buying an electric drill,' Greg said and grabbed his keys to do just that.

A few months after they'd started dating, Mycroft had given Greg a card. It was linked with Mycroft's personal account and Greg was under instructions to use it whenever he had to. Greg never had, preferring to pay for his own food and clothing when he could. But with his divorce and child maintenance, Greg wasn't exactly rolling in cash. And, as he'd learned quite early on, bathtubs, tiles, and wood were expensive.

So, for the first time since entering the relationship, Greg found himself using the little black card Mycroft had given him. He'd told himself he'd pay Mycroft back no matter what, even if the politician refused.

Four hours later Greg rubbed sweat from his eyes and looked at the finished cabinet. He'd moved the old one out, had it picked up by one of Mycroft's never ending people, had put the new one together, and re-connected Mycroft's TV and sound system.

'Shit,' Greg said, checking his watch. It was six and he'd normally be heading home. Changing into the clothes he'd worn this morning, Greg hurried from Mycroft's house.

  
  


{oOo}

  
Two weeks later, Mycroft was growing suspicious. The few times he'd tried to call into Scotland Yard, Anthea had stopped him. When he'd phoned Greg, the DI had always taken much longer then necessary to meet Mycroft for lunch.

Greg had been tired every night they'd spent together and he'd been sporting cuts and bruises. His hair had, one on occasion, been filled with wood chips.

As they sat down to dinner in Greg's flat, the TV on in the background and Greg sipping beer over his streak, Mycroft ran through the possible reasons for Greg's behaviour.

_New job? No, he would never leave the Yard._

_Problems with Jennifer? No, he's told me before when his ex-wife's been giving him grief._

_Daughter, then? ... No, he hasn't mentioned any troubles._

_Hobby? No._

_Problems with Sherlock? Seems to take a great interest in raging on about little brother so no, not that either._

Suddenly Mycroft's heart skipped a beat and he stared at Greg.

_New lover? Is he cheating on me? It would explain the dust, perhaps his lover is renovating. But the bruises and cuts? ... Could be explained if they have a vigorous sex life._

Mycroft felt his chest constrict.

_It would also explain why he hasn't wanted to have sex with me in two weeks... no, could he? No... maybe... why not? He's gorgeous, fit, has a good job... why wouldn't he go after someone younger and better looking then me? It explains not wanting me to come around Scotland Yard... maybe it's another police officer._

Mycroft's grip on his fork tightened, knuckles turning white. Greg seemed to only just notice something was wrong and looked at his boyfriend.

'Myc?' he questioned, wiping gravy from the corner of his mouth. 'What's wrong?'

_I bet his lover likes his lips_ , Mycroft thought viciously. He stood suddenly and said, more then a little bitterly, 'Nothing, I'm going to sleep.'

He left before Greg could say anything, dumping his untouched food in the sink. Mycroft's stomach was churning and he couldn't sleep. He faked it, though, when Greg climbed into bed and poked his back. With a sigh, Greg rolled over and went to sleep while Mycroft's jealousy and insecurities nibbled at his mind.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


It took Gregory Lestrade exactly three weeks to finish fixing Mycroft's house. Everything that needed replacing had been replaced, everything that needed a touch up Greg had personally touched himself.

'Well, ain't that dirty,' Greg giggled. Grinning, he pulled out his mobile and texted Mycroft.

  
  


_I'll meet you at yours at six._

_Greg_

_x_

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft stared at the message and could do little more then text back a short reply of, 'Yes'. He sighed and leaned back, hating that he didn't have any meetings. Anthea had told him he had a free night and that he should enjoy it at home with his boyfriend.

Mycroft would very much like to do that but Greg's attitude and behaviour hadn't changed. He still got home late, still looked tired and bruised, and still wouldn't sleep with Mycroft. The elder Holmes had made a decision; as soon as his home was habitable again, he'd break up with Greg.

He didn't want to, of course. He loved Greg with all his heart; he wanted them to live together, get married, have little Lestrade-Holmes babies that they could screw up in their own way. Unfortunately it seemed that Gregory didn't want that.

So it was with a heavy heart that Mycroft stepped from his sleek black car, umbrella in one hand, briefcase in the other. He looked up at his house, knowing Greg was inside.

'Home sweet home,' he muttered miserably as he stepped up the path.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft had expected a little dinner, or a DVD, maybe even Greg doing something sexual to hide his infidelity. He _hadn't_ expected to walk into his kitchen and find a brand new counter, varnished and polished, contrasting well with the new dark blue and black tiles that ran around the wall.

He hadn't expected his floorboards to be re-done, re-varnished, and looking much better then Mycroft had ever seen them. Then there was the new furniture, the re-painted walls...

... and Greg, his Gregory, standing in the middle of it all with a big grin on his face, wearing faded and torn jeans, socks, a plaid shirt undone halfway down his chest, and smudges of dirt all over his face that made him look ridiculously adorable.

'G-Greg?' Mycroft stuttered, dropping his briefcase and brolly.

'Surprise,' Greg said and ran a hand through his messy hair. 'Look, I... this might be a total invasion of privacy but I just... I _had_ to do it.'

Mycroft blinked. 'Had... to...?'

'You're always getting me stuff; coffee, food, breaks from work,' Greg said. 'And the dinners, the cigarettes, just being there for me... you're the perfect boyfriend, Mycroft, and I was feeling a rubbish one me-self so... well, after your counter attacked me, I realised your home could do a renovating so... here it is.'

Mycroft blinked again, mouth dropping open. Greg remained in the kitchen as his partner went through the entire house quickly, finding that something in every single room had been re-done. There were even new sheets on the bed; dark blue, because Mycroft loved how Greg looked naked against the colour.

'Greg...' Mycroft said, re-entering the kitchen.

'Um... is it alright?' Greg asked, now feeling unsure. 'I didn't mean to... you know, change that much but... once I stop, I can't stop. I guess I got a bit carried away.' He looked down, wondering if Mycroft was about to start shouting.

Suddenly warm and strong arms enveloped him and Greg gasped as his chin was wrenched up. Hot, wet lips pressed against his own and Mycroft's body felt very warm against Greg's own. Greg groaned and melted into the embrace, heart thumping and crotch heating up.

' _This_ is what you've been doing?' Mycroft asked. 'All those cancelled lunch dates and being too tired for sex... you were doing _this_?'

'Well... yeah,' Greg said, 'what did you think I was doing?' Mycroft looked down, embarrassment clear on his face. 'Myc?'

'I thought you were... cheating on me.'

Greg burst out laughing and Mycroft stared, eyes wide.

'Oh my God, _really_?' Greg asked. He giggled when Mycroft nodded, the elder Holmes then crossing his arms and pouting.

'Well what was I supposed to think?' he demanded. 'I couldn't know that you'd do...' he raised his arms, gesturing around, ' _this_.'

Greg grinned and pulled Mycroft back in, arms hooked around the taller man's neck. 'Silly Myc,' he tutted. 'As if I'm ever gonna cheat on _you_. First; I've never cheated in a relationship. Second; this is the best relationship I've ever been in, _ever_. Third; Sherlock would murder me four different ways, John and Mrs Hudson too. And fourth, my silly little man, I _love_ you. Love, as in, 'Can't be without you, want to fuck you every day till dawn, want to sit and eat with you, read with you, one day marry and have kids with you'.' He tutted again and buried his face in Mycroft's neck. 'Silly, silly, silly,' he cooed, licking a strip up Mycroft's pale skin.

Mycroft groaned, Greg's words combining to make his heart ache with love, his loins burn with lust, and his eyes swim with tears. He rested his head on Greg's shoulder, humming as the DI kissed his neck.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled.

'Don't be.'

'I still am.'

'Make it up to me, then,' Greg said and kissed Mycroft's skin.

It was then that Mycroft noted that Greg was wearing jeans... and a plaid shirt... there was also a tool belt around his waist. Blushing, Mycroft pulled back to survey his boyfriend.

'What?' Greg asked.

'You look like a character from a porn movie,' Mycroft stated.

Greg grinned coyly. 'Oh, _do I_? Well, well, look at you.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and said, 'Pardon?'

'Since when do you, Mr Holmes of Her Royal Majesty's Government, watch _porn_?'

Mycroft's checks instantly darkened, face feeling overheated as he looked away. 'I didn't say _I_ watched... I didn't mean... you're being ridiculous, Gregory.'

Greg grinned and used his arms to keep Mycroft in place, body suddenly being pressed up against the politician's. 'Why you filthy, filthy man,' Greg teased. 'I can picture it now; sixteen-year-old Mycroft Holmes, sitting in his grand manor house, the door locked, lube on the bedside table, wanking to some filthy porn with two men, one dressed as a handyman.'

Mycroft stifled a groan but Greg heard him.

'Getting all hot and bothered under the sheets,' Greg continued, moving his face closer. 'Gripping your cock as you watch two men fuck each other, maybe using their mouths first.' He breathed over Mycroft's jaw, the elder Holmes shivering. 'You hadn't told anyone yet, had you? Still felt like it was naughty, _bad_ , jerking off to two men going at it. Well it is _very_ filthy, but so delicious, isn't it?'

Mycroft moaned very loudly this time, stomach twisting and cock twitching.

'So incredibly delicious, two cocks being together,' Greg said, voice now a breathy whisper. 'The slide of lubed fingers trailing over your hard and heavy cock. Pre-come oozing out the slit, your head swollen and just _needing_ stimulation, needing another hand, or a mouth, maybe even a tight arse... hmm?'

Mycroft swallowed hard and opened his eyes, looking into Greg's own which were dark with lust.

'Is that what you need?' Greg asked. Mycroft nodded. 'Do you need it now?' Another nod of assertion. 'Well, maybe I won't,' Greg said offhandedly. 'You thought I was cheating, not very nice Mr I'm-Not-A-Spy.'

Mycroft felt his stomach jolt, his heart twist. 'I'm sorry, Gregory,' he choked out. 'I was... jealous and scared and... please!' He grabbed Greg around the waist, pulling him back in.

Greg grinned wickedly. 'Well then...' he said slowly, looking Mycroft up and down. 'I think you need to be fucked until you realise that I ain't going anywhere.'

Mycroft was too horny to care about Greg's improper use of the English language. He just nodded, prepared to do anything to make it up to his partner.

Suddenly Greg grabbed his wrists, jerking them behind his back and making Mycroft grunt in pain.

'No fighting,' Greg scolded as Mycroft tried to move.

As much as it went against Mycroft's very nature (he did _not_ submit to _anyone_ ), the politician allowed it to happen, feeling a strange feeling take hold in his brain. He _wanted_ Greg to take control, wanted to be used and fucked in any way the DI saw fit.

'There's my little cock slut,' Greg said and Mycroft groaned. 'Now, what _am_ I going to do with you?'

'Whatever you want,' Mycroft gasped. 'Please, whatever you want.'

'Hmm...' Greg said and held Mycroft's wrists back with one hand. He used the other to pull at Mycroft's tie. 'Okay, wait here.'

Mycroft did as asked, watching as Greg disappeared. His cock was still achingly hard, straining against his expensive trousers, and there was a thin layer of sweat over his forehead. He was about to shout for Greg when the DI re-appeared.

'Turn,' Greg commanded and Mycroft did, albeit with slight hesitation. Greg walked up behind him, laying a reassuring hand on Mycroft's neck. 'Shh, I know this is hard,' he said softly. 'Just let yourself go, Mycroft.'

Mycroft gulped before saying, 'I'll-I'll try.'

'Good,' Greg said. Suddenly Mycroft's tie was being undone, slipped from his neck and taken in large fingers. Mycroft gasped when his own silk tie was wrapped around his wrists, Greg tying his hands together tightly. His hands were firmly secured, but not too tight, and Mycroft pulled slightly. An unbelievable feeling of arousal crashed through him and Mycroft groaned.

Greg tugged him along and Mycroft went willingly, allowing Greg to push him stomach first against the brand new counter.

'Mm,' Greg breathed in his ear, licking the lobe and making Mycroft shudder. 'What am I to do?'

'Please,' Mycroft begged.

'Please...?' Greg echoed.

'Fuck me,' Mycroft asked.

Greg was silent a few seconds before saying, 'And just _why_ would you want that?'

Mycroft wet his lips. 'Because I... I'm a...'

'Mm?' Greg mumbled in his ear.

'A c-cock slut,' Mycroft murmured.

'For?' Greg asked.

'You,' Mycroft replied without hesitation.

'Why yes, you _are_ ,' Greg grinned. His large fingers came to Mycroft's belt, undoing the buckle and sliding the leather against Mycroft's clothed stomach slowly. Suddenly his pants and underwear were yanked down, leaking Mycroft half naked. 'Kick your shoes off,' Greg ordered.

Again Mycroft did as asked and soon Greg had his entire bottom half naked. He nudged Mycroft's legs apart and kneeled. A hand snaked up over Mycroft's thigh, leaving goose-bumps in it's wake. Mycroft shivered and then groaned as a fist closed around his cock.

Greg gave a few quick pumps before letting Mycroft's shaft fall from his fingers. Licking his lips, Greg used his fingers to spread Mycroft's cheeks.

'Gregory?' Mycroft said.

'That's Detective Inspector Lestrade,' Greg told him.

'Um...' Mycroft mumbled before swearing loudly. 'Jesus fuck!'

Greg had licked up Mycroft's crack, humming in enjoyment before going back in. His tongue licked slow, wet circles around Mycroft's entrance and the younger man groaned, falling forward slightly and pushing his arse out more.

'Oh, he likes that,' Greg said, breath washing delicately over Mycroft's pale skin. 'Do you want more?'

'Y-Yes,' Mycroft said.

'No,' Greg said and slapped Mycroft's arse, the elder Holmes jumping. 'Say it properly.'

'Um...' Mycroft said, 'I want you to... to lick my... arse... D-Detective Inspector.'

'Very good,' Greg praised before going in again. This time he used more force, almost breaching Mycroft with his tongue. Mycroft groaned loudly above him, almost doubled over on the counter as Greg lapped away. Greg gave a teasing push, the tip of his tongue briefly entering Mycroft's tight hole before disappearing.

'Detective, _please_ ,' Mycroft begged, a first for him. 'Need... you... s-sir.'

Greg grinned. 'Well aren't you a fast learner,' he said and slapped Mycroft again. Before Mycroft could say anything else, Greg's tongue was sliding into his entrance, thrusting hard and spreading saliva.

Mycroft let out a loud, animalistic groan, mind completely focused on the pleasure Greg was giving him. Even his aching shoulders added to the thrill, the general feeling that Mycroft was at the mercy of Gregory Lestrade. It was all... Mycroft would definitely be doing this again.

'Stop thinking,' Greg chastised, tongue licking strips up Mycroft's right cheek. 'I can hear you.'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' Mycroft gasped, wiggling his hips. 'Please.'

'You're a cock slut _and_ a tongue slut,' Greg giggled.

'Shut up.'

'No, we'll have none of that,' Greg said, slapping Mycroft harder then before. The elder Holmes groaned. 'Ah, pain slut too,' Greg commented, 'I'll remember that.'

His tongue went back to work; licking and thrusting, circling and spreading saliva as it breached Mycroft again and again. Mycroft pushed himself back, cheeks hitting Greg's warm face and making both men groan.

Though it was great (fucking fantastic, Mycroft would have said if asked), the politician needed more. He began whimpering, Greg's tongue nowhere near long enough to fill him completely and touch that spot that made everything so much better. His cock was still aching, leaking against the counter and down Mycroft's tailor-made trousers.

'D-Detective,' he begged, remembering at the last second not to use Greg's name, 'please.'

'Please what?' Greg asked, nibbling on Mycroft's left cheek.

'Need y-you,' Mycroft begged. 'Your c-cock, in me, n-now.'

Greg stood slowly. 'Is that so?' he asked.

'Yes,' Mycroft nodded.

Slowly Greg stood and unbuttoned Mycroft's jacket and shirt while still standing behind him. His hands were still tied so Greg had to leave Mycroft semi-dressed. He started on his own jeans, getting them down and around his ankles.

'I'm going to fuck you while dressed,' Greg told him. Mycroft groaned. 'Only sluts get fucked like this, Mr Holmes,' he continued and rubbed his hard cock between Mycroft's cheeks. 'Isn't that right?'

'Yes,' Mycroft said. He heard Greg pull a bottle of lube from his jeans, having no doubt grabbed when he disappeared earlier. Suddenly Mycroft said, 'Wait.' Greg paused as Mycroft turned, bottle open and fingers pressed together. 'N-No preparation,' Mycroft said. 'I want to feel it.'

Greg stared. 'Are you sure?' he asked. Anal sex really hurt with no preparation.

'Yes, I'm sure,' Mycroft nodded. 'I want to feel it; I want to be sitting in a meeting with the PM and know that you fucked me so hard my arse ached for days.'

Greg grinned. 'Filthy man,' he said and slicked up his cock. He moved behind Mycroft and put a hand on his hip. 'Are you sure?' he asked.

'Yes, just fucking hurry up,' Mycroft moaned.

Greg hesitated before, gripping Mycroft's hip with one hand and his cock with the other, he pushed in swiftly, Mycroft's entrance tight and resisting as he was fully encased. Mycroft grunted in pain before whining, pulling away from what was hurting him.

'Shh,' Greg said, rubbing a hand up Mycroft's back. 'Want to stop?'

'N-No,' Mycroft whimpered. 'Just... fuck, h-hurts.'

'I told you, you idiot,' Greg said, Mycroft feeling tighter then he ever had before.

'Fuck... you...' Mycroft moaned, letting his head drop, forehead pressed to the counter. Greg pulled him back, spreading Mycroft's legs to make the politician as comfortable as he could be.

Though he knew Mycroft was in pain, Greg couldn't help himself. He pulled out a little before thrusting back in, Mycroft's muscles squeezing so deliciously around him. He groaned and did it again, Mycroft whimpering before him.

'S-Sorry, l-love,' Greg groaned, trying to get a hold of himself. When Mycroft pushed back he grinned. 'Fucking pain slut,' he said.

'Yes, now fuck me, please,' Mycroft begged, biting his lip.

And so Greg did; long, hard, and deep thrusts. He slammed into Mycroft with abandon, not wanting to draw this out. Mycroft practically wailed, biting down hard on his lip and drawing blood, the metallic liquid spreading over his tongue as it flicked between his lips. Greg grunted in response, one hand on Mycroft, the other on his own hip.

'Fuck, Myc,' he groaned, 'so fucking tight.'

'Ngh,' Mycroft replied, moving his hips to try and get some sort of friction on his cock. Greg's hand wrapped around his shaft and Mycroft shouted, voice echoing around the kitchen as Greg continued to pound into him. 'Fuck, y-yes,' the taller man groaned. 'Right th-th... oh God...'

Mycroft was at a loss for words, reduced to a gibbering mess as Greg fucked him and stroked him. Greg could feel the politician getting tighter around him and angled himself to brush Mycroft's prostate, knowing it would just add to the pleasure he was already feeling.

Mycroft groaned and moaned, whimpered and mewled and made a lot of nosies Greg had never heard from a human being. He fucked his boyfriend as hard as he could, own orgasm approaching like a freight-chain-

Warm liquid spilled across Greg's fist and Mycroft's arse tightened amazingly. Greg couldn't move and his own orgasm was ripped from him, making him cry out and dig his short nails into Mycroft's pale skin.

They both shuddered and moaned, leaked from their shafts and sweated. When Greg could finally see, he pulled out of Mycroft with a soft, wet sound, Mycroft whimpering as he did.

'Shh,' Greg breathed heavily, grabbing the tie and freeing Mycroft's wrists. Mycroft just slumped across the counter, breathing heavily, legs shaking. Greg stood back and shed the rest of his clothes, letting them pool on the tiled floor. He grabbed Mycroft, making him stand and turn.

Mycroft's eyes were glazed, a look of utter relaxation across his features. Greg grinned and pulled Mycroft's jacket, waistcoat and shirt off, again leaving them on the floor. He led Mycroft to the politician's bedroom, where he made the man sit while he fetched a warm towel.

Once they were cleaned up, Greg climbed into bed and drew Mycroft in, pressing soft kisses to his neck.

'Silly Myc,' he chastised again. 'Never, _ever_ think that I don't love you, got it?'

'Mm,' Mycroft replied.

Greg smiled and let his eyes close, arms wrapped around Mycroft tightly.

'Greg?'

'Mm?' he murmured.

'I like my new kitchen counter. Very... sturdy.'

Greg burst out laughing and Mycroft grinned.

  
  


{THE END}

 


End file.
